


What is Needed

by MintIceTea



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: F/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7388821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintIceTea/pseuds/MintIceTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His heart was cracked and bled dry, but it left the organ free for him to fill it with Edith. And oh, how he wanted to. It was like she was glowing, marvelous and brilliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is Needed

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun writing Thomas - angsty little thing. This was supposed to have plot, but Thomas kept going with the dramatic imagery so this is what we've ended up with.

                His head was throbbing. A painful beat with every stumbling step he took through the sludge and snow. Each slow step hurt, his vision swimming and his right side numb. Chest aching as well, it felt as if his heart was splitting, broken by Lucille’s betrayal. He had held onto a foolish hope that they could live together peacefully, as three of them. It seemed though, that his blinders had been removed, forcing him to look at what he had been helping Lucille hide.

            When he turned the corner around his machine, that vision turned albatross, he saw Edith with a shovel in her hands. She looked so terrified he almost didn’t notice Lucille until she turned to face him. Thomas meant to be brave, truly he did, to face his sister and subdue her despite his wounds. But he froze when his eyes met hers. Wild, manic, and full of hate. He had seen Lucille angry at him, she was furious at him enough to stab him. The burning hatred made him feel as if he stood at the gates of hell.

            Thomas expected her to charge at him and finish him. Eyes on him she snarled something at Edith. He wasn’t able to hear it or Edith’s reply over the swirling snow. But with a swing of the shovel in her hands Lucille was lying lifeless in the slush and mud.

            Edith turned to him, shovel still in hand and for a brief moment he envisioned her taking the metal to his skull next. He dearly deserved it. He spread his good arm wide, unable to move his right and willed her to do as she pleased. Her hands trembled around the shovel, before dropping it, sending clumps of red snow scattering. “Thomas?”

            He wasn’t sure what came out of his mouth, be it her name or a plea. Whatever words he uttered, he found himself in her arms. Her lovely white nightdress almost full scarlet with blood. Her blood, his as well; and Alan’s, Lucille’s, the thrice damned clay of this horrible place. He was sobbing against her shoulder, the salty tears stinging his injured eye and making him shake like a leaf.

            The next few hours were a blur of pain, he was aware of being taken into town. Murmurs that the hospital was too far in this snow. He wasn’t quite sure where he was until a stern-faced matron informed him that he was in the doctor’s own house. Him, his wife, and their friend. The woman’s face softened when he begged Edith’s condition. She informed him that she rested, in much better health than he and Alan, napping in the room beside his.

            Thomas dozed for a few hours in a haze. The doctor and his assistant bandaged him, the best they could.  Making sure Thomas was drinking the medicines and tea they place in his shaking hand. The doctor, a tall man with more hair on his chin than his head, helped Thomas into a worn nightshirt. Probably the doctor’s own, judging by how long it fell on his shins. Once awake and near lucid, Thomas lay in bed for no more than half an hour, trying not to think of Lucille. Betrayal mixed with love and it tasted like blood. When he began to hear her voice he pulled himself from bed. Whimpering, but not stopping until he stood before Edith’s door.

            He knocked softly on her door. Pushing it opened just slightest amount, whispering her name. When she beckoned him to open the door in full he trembled in the threshold. “…I... Edith, please. May I stay with you tonight?”

            “Why?”

            Many excuses were on the tip of his tongue, but none of them good enough. They all boiled down to one simple reason that he spoke in earnest “I’m frightened.” For a moment he felt like a small child again, but now he couldn’t hide from what frightened him. His only choice was to face it. And he wanted to do it by Edith’s side. But he hoped, oh how he hoped, that he wouldn’t have to face them tonight.

            “Ghosts won’t come if we’re together, right?” he whispered, afraid to reach for her.

            Edith though, she knew more than he gave her credit for. As always.  Her hand reached out, begging him to come in. “They never have,” was her soft reply, and he nodded, swallowing hard. His good eye focused on the floor, taking careful steps, but he felt all her attention on him.

            “Are you afraid of her?”

            “I don’t want to see her, not yet.” He shuddered, both at the painful ache Lucille caused and the chill of the floor on his bare feet. With her own body trembling, Edith helped him climb into bed before settling back down into her pillows.

            There was enough space between that that Thomas felt a chill at his back. But Edith’s calm and steady breathing, so unlike the howling winds of the hall, soothed him like nothing else. The nights in their marriage bed seemed a blur to him, he avoided the bedroom as much as he could. To save them both from Lucille’s wrath. The few times he spent the night by Edith’s side, he focused on her breath. Trying not to feel his chest clench as her hacking cough became more and more prevalent.

            Now though, her cough faded under the attentions of the doctor. Not cured, no, not yet. But her coughing fits were far between. He hoped she no longer coughed up blood. She had bled enough since her acquaintance with him. He was more than willing to bleed for her now. Anything she demanded, anything as long as she would let him stay in her presence.

-x-x-x-

            Two days later the snow cleared. Or it had cleared just enough to cart the three injured to the hospital in the city. Thomas hardly remembered the ride in, pain had returned with a vengeance when he awoke. Terrible shaking and sweats. The doctors murmured that he couldn’t feel the pain because of shock before. Edith sat between him and Alan in the carriage. Her soft whispers to the both of them were the only thing that kept him remotely lucid.

            He knew she was injured, rather badly from his own inaction. Once arrived at the hospital she allowed herself to be coaxed back into a wheelchair. Her money and his family’s reputation, earned them a few rooms at the hotel in town when the doctors could keep them no longer.

            Between the doctors and the hospital, Thomas had been assured that his arm may heal. Only if he kept the torn muscles immobile in a sling. Everyone was skeptical that he would ever regain sight in his eye again. He was resigned to death if Edith lived, loss of an eye was a small price to pay. He hoped it ached until the day he was finally laid to rest. He wanted to take Edith’s pain and scars and carry them as well as his own. Anything to be worthy of her forgiveness.

            She was undoubtedly an angel. For when they relocated to the hotel, she offered him a place in her bed. To keep the ghosts away, she said. He thanked her with the whole of his heart. Knowing that his selfish nature would lead him to fear ghosts for as long as she let him seek solace with her. A few uneasy nights passed before he found himself whispering to her in the dark. Morbidly hoping for an end. Eyes closed, hiding like a coward, he laid his sins before her once more and dared her to forgive him. Hoping with a bitter burn in his throat she’d turn him away. Divorce him and leave him to serve his penance, knowing she is safe and happy without him. But Edith, this beautiful woman, only kissed his brow and told him: “I forgive you. I love you. You chose me. You chose  _ **us**_. I will trust you again soon.”

            That night he cried. Soaking his pillow, his back to Edith’s sleeping form. His injured eye stung with the burn of tears. Tears for Lucille, her misguided soul leaving his aching in her absence, even as his heart was lighter. Tears for himself, cowardly in heart, selfish in nature. For actions taken, and worse, not taken out of fear and obedience. Tears for Alan, his care not even grudging, just wary and sorrowful. Tears for Edith, chest aching for her, so strong, so brave, and so unbelievably kind.

            With every tear shed he felt lighter. Edith’s hand on his back the only thing keeping him from floating away. He hadn’t felt the suffocating collar of the house and his name until they were gone. Not even acknowledging that something felt wrong until Edith’s lightness began to burn his heart. As the weight of the past began to lighten he felt the uncertainty of the future edging in at the back of his mind. But those thoughts would have to wait. With a small smile on his tear streaked face, he felt Edith’s easy breathing lead him into sleep.

 


End file.
